Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“It’s just a quick patrol,” Andarna whines, jarring me from my thoughts. “I need the practice. Who knows what weather we’ll encounter on the search for my kind?”
“Quick patrols” have proven deadly, and I’m not looking for reasons to test Andarna’s fire theory. Dark wielders may have limited power within the wards, but they’re still lethal fighters. The ones who didn’t escape post-battle have used the element of surprise to add multiple names to the death roll. First Wing, Third Wing, and our own Claw Section have suffered losses.
“Then practice evenly dispersing enough magic to keep all your extremities warm during flight, because your wings won’t hold the weight of this ice,” Tairn growls into the falling snow.
“‘Your wings won’t hold the weight of this ice,’” Andarna blatantly mocks him. “And yet yours miraculously carry the burden of your ego.”
“Go find a sheep and let the adults work.” Tairn’s muscles shift slightly beneath me in a familiar pattern, and I lean forward as far as the saddle will allow, preparing for a dive.
My stomach lurches into my throat as his wings snap closed and we pitch downward, slicing through the storm. Wind tears at my winter flight hood, and the leather strap of my saddle bites into my frozen thighs as I pray to Zihnal there isn’t a mountain peak directly beneath us.
Tairn levels out, and my stomach settles as I tug my goggles up to my forehead and blink quickly, looking right. The drop in altitude has lessened the intensity of the storm, improving visibility enough to see the rocky ridgeline just above the flight field.
“Looks clear.” My eyes tear up, assaulted by both wind and snow that feels more like tiny projectiles of ice than flakes. I clean my lenses using the suede tips of my gloves before snapping them over my eyes again.
“Agreed. Once we hear the same from Feirge and Cruth, we’ll end today’s endeavors,” he grumbles.
“You sound like making it three straight days without encountering the enemy is a bad thing.” Maybe we’ve really caught and killed them all. As cadets, we’ve slain thirty-one venin in the area surrounding Basgiath while our professors work to clear the rest of the province. It would be thirty-two if anyone suspected one of them was living among us, though—even if he’s credited with seventeen of the kills.
“I am not comforted by the quiet—” Wind whips overhead with a crack, and Tairn’s head jerks upward. Mine immediately follows suit.
Oh no.
Not wind. Wings.
Aotrom’s claws consume my vision, and my heart seizes with panic. He’s dropping out of the storm directly on top of us.
“Tairn!” I shout, but he’s already rolling left, hurling us from our course.
The world rotates, sky and land exchanging places twice in a nauseating dance before Tairn flares his wings in a jarring snap. The movement cracks the inch-thick layer of ice along the front ridges of his wings, and chunks fall away.
I draw a full but shaky breath as Tairn pumps his wings with maximum effort, gaining a hundred feet of altitude in a matter of seconds and barreling straight toward the Brown Swordtail bonded to Ridoc.
Wrath scalds the air in my lungs, Tairn’s emotions flooding my system for a heartbeat before I can slam my mental shields down to muffle the worst of what streams in through the bond.
“Don’t!” I shout into the wind as we come up on Aotrom’s left, but as always, Tairn does whatever he wants and full-on crunches his jaws within what looks like inches of Aotrom’s head. “It was clearly an accident!” One that would usually be avoided by dragons communicating.
The smaller Brown Swordtail squawks as Tairn repeats the warning, then Aotrom exposes his throat in a gesture of submission.
Ridoc looks my way through the band of snow and throws up his hands, but I doubt he sees my shrug of apology before Aotrom falls away, heading south to the flight field.
Guess Feirge and Rhi reported in.
“Was that really necessary?” I drop my shields, and Tairn’s and Andarna’s bonds come flooding back at full strength, but the shimmering pathway that leads to Xaden is still blocked, dimmed to an echo of its usual presence. The loss of constant connection sucks, but he doesn’t trust himself—or what he thinks he’ll become—to keep it open yet.
“Yes,” Tairn answers, declaring the single word sufficient.
“You’re almost twice his size and it was obviously an accident,” I repeat as we descend rapidly to the flight field. The snow on the ground of the box canyon has been trampled into a muddy series of paths from the constant patrols second- and third-years are flying.
“It was negligent, and a twenty-two-year-old dragon should know better than to close himself off from his riot simply because he’s arguing with his rider,” Tairn grumbles, his anger lowering to a simmer as Aotrom lands beside Rhi’s Green Daggertail, Feirge.